


Once More

by ISeeFire, Lady_Juno



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Everybody Lives, Fix-It, Gen, Second Chances, Short One Shot, Time Travel Fix-It, don't question my tags, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:50:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3151274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ISeeFire/pseuds/ISeeFire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Juno/pseuds/Lady_Juno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin is given a second chance to make things right, and save his kin from the wrath of the Pale Orc.<br/>Note: This is a completely self-serving fix-it to mend my poor, broken little heart. Written with the amazingly fantastic ISeeFire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once More

He woke to darkness and cold. At first, he thought he was still at the top of the frozen waterfall, where he had killed Azog the Defiler and said his final farewell to his burglar. But a moment of contemplation brought him to the conclusion that he was lying on his back in a stone hall, not out in the open air.

"What in the name of Mahal's leg hair was THAT?!" The roar of an angry dwarf very close to his ear made Thorin's heart leap into his throat. He jerked away from the noise, and fell off the stone slab he'd been lying on.

"What the-?"

"Ya failed, lad. That was pathetic! Ya let the Worm get to ya, an' then ya let that miserable piece of scum Azog kill ya."

Thorin realized that the dwarf standing over him looked very familiar. He'd seen statues of him before.

"Who-?"

"Nevermind him, Son." Another dwarf helped Thorin to his feet. Strong hands, thick beard, a warrior's tattoos.

"Adad?"

"Aye, son. And this is your, er... cousin."

"Durin. My name is Durin."

"You're annoying, that's what you are." A much deeper, more sonorous voice reverberated through Thorin's bones. "Oakenshield, your name is known even here, and your death has earned you a place in the halls of your forefathers, to wait for the End."

The dwarf that called himself Durin (Thorin wasn't entirely sure he believed his claim) cleared his throat loudly. The deep voice, the source of which Thorin couldn't see, responded with a faint sigh.

"But your kinsman have been exceptionally persistent. On their merit, you will be given a choice. Stay here and wait for the End with your fellow dearly departed, or return to Middle-earth for a... second chance. " The voice sounded both resigned and amused. Thorin shook his head slightly and glanced at his father. Ranged behind Thrain were others he recognized, faces he knew. His grandfather, his mother... his brother. Frerin gave him a cheerful grin.

"Don't waste your chance, Brother," he called. "I'll still be here when you come back." Their mother shushed him, and Thrain chuckled.

"Wait, so... I can... go back? Try again?" Thorin looked up at Durin (the Deathless?), who nodded.

"Ya get one more chance, lad. Make it right."

Thorin only had to think for a moment.

"Yes. I'll go back. Send me back."

There was no time for goodbyes. Thorin stumbled slightly as the sensory input almost overwhelmed him.

"Hold on, Thorin! I'm coming!"

Thorin caught the flicker of movement from the corner of his eye and turned just in time to instinctively parry a blow coming his way. He ducked, driving his sword through the breastbone of the orc, stood and whipped his sword in a wide arc, neatly decapitating another orc coming from behind him.

Through the thick of battle he caught a brief flash of blonde hair and felt his heart leap. It vanished almost immediately, lost behind the crush of orcs determined to wipe them all out.

Thorin took a step in that direction, only to come up short as he found himself face to face with Dain.

The other dwarf grinned and threw his arms around Thorin. "About time ye showed up."

Thorin pulled back and studied his cousin, his own eyes dark. "Dain, I'm glad you're here. We need to talk."

Dain gave his axe a halfhearted swing, blowing out an orc's knee as he looked quizzically at his cousin. "What's that matter with ye? Look like ye jes' seen a ghost." The dwarf was a spitting image of his mother, one of the Firebeards from the west, and the little grey that was creeping into his beard gave him an almost wise look as he allowed Thorin to steer him out of the path of a disoriented orc. The creature died shortly thereafter with a sword through his neck, but Dain's attention didn't leave Thorin's face.

"Well, come on! Speak up, lad, for Durin's sake."

Thorin opened his mouth, then shut it again as he realized the midst of battle might not be the best time to inform his cousin he'd died and been resurrected because Durin the Deathless had thrown a hissy fit over his actions.

He moved suddenly, darting behind Dain to ventilate an orc trying to sneak up on the man. As he did his eyes were drawn almost unconsciously toward Ravenhill where, even then, Azog was directing the battle. Trap or not, the orc needed to be dealt with and quickly.

A large group of goblin mercenaries charged them suddenly and Thorin found himself back to back with Dain, their blades and bodies spinning in a near dance as they dealt with the threat.

They'd had to fight their way through to Ravenhill as well, Thorin thought. They'd used the rams to charge through much of the orc filth and then had used their swords the rest of the way.

Bilbo had simply walked.

The realization startled him enough that he stumbled, and was nearly decapitated for it. Dain gave a roar and shoved him down, before sending his sword flying over Thorin's head to kill the orc who'd threatened his kin.

Thorin's mind was whirling. They'd hired Bilbo in the first place because Gandalf insisted he could walk unseen and he'd certainly proven it by strolling through Thranduil's halls as though they were empty. Now, again, he'd come through the thick of a battle as easily as he might have wandered through his own garden.

The barest kernel of an idea began to form inside his mind. If Bilbo could truly walk unseen...

He turned and grabbed Dain's arm, halting him in his steps. The redheaded warrior gave a grunt of annoyance and focused on him. "Finally ready to speak up, are ye lad?"

"Dain," Thorin said, his mind still desperately trying to work out his bare, and probably insane, plan, "I need you to help me find a Hobbit."

Dain looked nothing if not bewildered, and was so distracted that Thorin was forced to give him a shove to avoid an over-zealous orc's spear. When the carcass fell and Thorin's boots were coated in black ichor, Dain found his tongue.

"A Hobbit? What in the name of my father's withered beard is a Hobbit?"

Thorin gestured impatiently. "About yay tall, curly hair, big hairy feet. He's my burglar, and I need him. Now."

For the space of a heartbeat, it looked like Dain might protest. Then, with a shrug, he lifted his ax in a truncated salute. "Alright, as ye say. Where would the tyke be, ye suppose?" Questions about his king's sanity could clearly wait. For now, at least.

"Uncle!" Kili staggered out of the heaving mass of orcs, and though he was spattered liberally with blood, none of it seemed to be his. "Gloin's cornered and I can't find Nori, but the line is holding. Something's going on in Dale, I can't see what."

Thorin froze as he realized he had no idea what had become of the rest of the Company after he, Dwalin and the boys had initially charged up Ravenhill. Had Gloin survived the situation he currently faced? And what of Dale? It was the most likely place for Bilbo to have been up until he'd left, or been sent, to Ravenhill. With every step he took, Thorin changed what had already happened and created the possibilities of new tragedy, such as Bilbo staying in Dale and dying before Thorin ever found him.

Dain made an annoyed sound and gave him a shove. "I'll get Gloin and look for the other one. Ye go find yer Bobbit."

"Hobbit," Thorin corrected.

"Whatever," Dain scoffed. He turned and with a loud yell plunged back into the fray.

Thorin grabbed Kili's shoulder. "Come on. We need to get to Dale." Kili nodded and obediently fell in alongside him. As he did Thorin frowned at the other dwarf. "Where's your brother?"

Kili made a gesture, encompassing a broad area of fighting in a low, rocky valley between two of the massive statues of Thror. "He got split off from the rest of us. Dwalin went after him." He tried to sound casual, but there was a little quaver of fear in his voice as he let an arrow fly, straight into an orc's eye. It fell with a hoarse gurgle, its curved scimitar barely missing Thorin's shield arm.

Thorin felt a cold sliver of fear lance through his heart. He remembered the last time he'd seen his nephew. It may have been another lifetime, now undone, but he could still see the fear in the boy's eyes, could still feel his own heart wrench with a mix of grief and pride as Fili had desperately mouthed for them to run. He'd refused, unwilling to allow his sister-son to die with naught but orcs for company. He knew now the sound of pain his nephew made as a blade sliced through his body, could still hear the thud his corpse had made once it'd hit the ground.

He wasn't going through that again.

"I need you to go to Dale," he said now to Kili, "and find Bilbo. I'll find your brother."

Kili looked confused. "But why--"

"Every second we delay is another one I'm delayed from helping him," Thorin cut in sharply. It was an unkind thing to say, perhaps, but he had no time to explain everything to his youngest nephew. Another thought occurred to him and he added, "if you see Bard tell him to send the women and children to Erebor. They'll be safe there."

Kili frowned, startled. "You want to send them through a battlefield?"

"If my suspicions are correct then Dale is a battlefield," Thorin said, "at least in the mountain they'll be protected, if they can reach it. Now go, we have no time waste."

No time at all. A second army would soon arrive and while he knew the eagles would come as well there had been a delay between the two. They would have to face both armies on their own, for awhile at least. He'd seen the tide turn in their favor last time but did not assume it would go the same way once more. Things had already been changed. He could only hope for the better.

Kili vanished into the fray, arrows flying almost to fast to see as he opened a path to Dale.

Thorin heaved out a breath, tightened his grip on the hilt of his own sword and plunged in himself, heading in the direction Kili had pointed out.

It was like reliving a nightmare after waking up. Memory skewed events this way and that so you _thought_ you knew what would happen, until they did. Thorin's sword sang the steel song of death, blood running freely through the six grooves in its blade. It was a terrible dance, never more than a hand's breadth from dying, from disappointing Durin the Deathless, from _failing._

He saw a flash of blonde, a dagger sprout from a nearby orc like a new variety of jeweled flower. "FILI!"

"Thorin!" Fili appeared through the battle, yanking his dagger free and whirling to burying it again in the stomach of another foe. Dwalin materialized behind him, swinging his ax with such force that orcs staggered several steps before their bodies simply fell apart, severed at the arm or leg or spine.

He was foolish enough to feel relief. He was too quick to think things had, impossibly, worked in his favor. A spear exploded into being, the iron tip emerging through Fili's shoulder. The dwarf let out a breathless grunt, his expression startled. The orc holding the spear shrieked wordless triumph until Thorin's sword passed through his windpipe.

Fili stumbled, but still held a dagger in either hand. "I'll be fine," he muttered. "Just a scratch." Blue-grey eyes glazed with pain, but he remained standing, seeming too stunned to do otherwise. Dwalin ripped the spear free and, though blood ran swift and scarlet from the wound, the blond remained on his feet.

Thorin couldn't help himself. The sight of his nephew whole, and alive, in front of him had him taking a step forward and throwing both arms around the other dwarf. Fili grunted in surprise, and possibly pain, but readily returned the hug with his good arm.

After a moment Thorin pulled away and the three of them stood back to back. He and Dwalin flanked Fili, providing a counterbalance to his injured shoulder as they fought. He watched his nephew closely as they moved, finally deciding the injury to Fili's shoulder, while exceptionally painful and effectively rendering his arm useless, was not life threatening.

He should send him back to Erebor. He knew that but, now that he had his nephew again, Thorin couldn't bring himself to allow the boy out of his sight.

"I sent your brother to Dale," he said, catching Fili's eyes. "What do you say we go meet up with him?"

A look of relief crossed Fili's face at the mention of Kili. With a determined smile, he lifted his chin bravely. "Absolutely."

Despite having an injured dwarf in the party, they made swift progress toward the bridge. Dale seemed all but overrun by orcs, but the neat ranks that had been so hard to break through by the Mountain gate dissolved into chaos as soon as they broke through the wall. Thorin made all speed toward the city, Fili keeping up with gritted teeth and Dwalin in the rear.

"We can't cross that bridge, Thorin." They had stopped on the last ridge to assess their approach, and Dwalin grunted as he slung the decapitated head of an orc into the face of another foe, knocking him on his back, if not unconscious. "There are too many of them."

"We'll have to go through the wall," agreed Fili through a mouthful of fabric. He'd torn strips from his tunic and was trying to bind his own shoulder.

"Thorin!" The surprised voice of Bilbo seemed to issue from nowhere, and a moment later, the little Hobbit came into view around a small outcropping of rock. There was no way he could have approached that hiding place unseen from the city, and there was no sign of Kili. "There's a second army, coming in from the north. You need to fall back to the Mountain-" He stopped, seeming to note the expressions of the dwarves. If he was still wary of them, he hid it well. "Thorin?"

"Bilbo," Thorin breathed, his voice near a whisper. "You're alright." Relief washed through him. He'd had little expectation of finding Bilbo and now he had found them. Perhaps Durin was still throwing a tantrum in the afterlife even as they spoke. Thorin sent a silent prayer that, if he was, he kept it up.

"Thorin," Dwalin drew his attention to Fili who'd sagged against a nearby wall, holding his shoulder.

"I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth. He looked toward Bilbo. "Have you seen Kili?"

At almost the same time, Thorin turned to the Hobbit as well. "I owe you a profound apology and you will get it, that I promise, just as soon as we aren't in danger of imminent death. Until then, I need your help, if you are willing."

Bilbo hesitated, his gaze flicking from Thorin's face to Fili's. "Kili... is with Bard. The Lakemen were low on archers." His attention returned to Thorin. Something of the burning intensity Thorin felt must have shown on his face, because the Hobbit nodded slowly. "I'm at your service, Thorin, as always. What do you need?"

Fili shifted, his face twisting with pain. A sheen of sweat had broken out on his face. A sliver of fear to ran through Thorin at the thought that he might have misjudged the severity of the boy's injury.

He took a deep breath, focusing on Bilbo for a moment. "We need to deal with Azog, before the second army arrives. If their leader is removed they'll be disorganized, scattered."

Bilbo nodded, not comprehending. "Makes sense. Where do I come in?"

"You can walk unseen," Thorin said. "You did it in the goblin tunnels and again in Thranduil's halls. You did it again just now." He hesitated, guilt clawing at his gut. "I would not ask this of you if I felt there was another way."

Bilbo's eyes flickered in the direction of Ravenhill where, even then, Azog was making an impressive show, almost as though he were trying to get as much attention as possible.

"You think it's a trap," Bilbo said slowly. Thorin knew it was a trap. Explaining how he knew, however, was probably not the best way to get Bilbo's help. The small Hobbit looked back at him, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Wait, are you suggesting you want me to kill Azog?"

Thorin didn't want him to do anything, certainly not kill Azog,the enemy of his family for decades. What he needed however...

"I do," he said simply. He wouldn't disrespect his burglar by trying pretty words or attempts at manipulation. "I believe you may be the only one who can."

Something of a cross between pride and panic flashed across Bilbo's face, and Thorin knew the Hobbit had it figured out. This was a suicide mission. Well, it would be for anyone _else._ For Bilbo... being able to go unnoticed might allow him to escape. Thorin hated himself for asking this of the brave little burglar. As he watched, Bilbo's jaw clenched and he lifted his chin slightly.

"I'll do it."

"Thorin, are ye mad?" Dwalin didn't seem half so convinced. "Yer sendin' a wee thief up there with his little dagger and hoping he comes off the better in a fight with the Defiler? Next ye'll say Elves are good friends and Dwarves can fly!"

"It's Bilbo's choice," snapped Thorin, and felt a little as though the world were in danger of falling apart.

"Of course I'll do it." Bilbo shot a look at Dwalin, and it might have been angry, if not for the how wide his eyes were.

"Absolutely not!" Gandalf was mounted again, and looked appalled as he reined his horse in so sharply, the poor animal reared, squealing in protest. "I'll not allow it. Thorin, what are you thinking? He's a burglar, not a warrior." How in the world the Wizard had heard them at all in the din of the battle was something Thorin neither wondered nor cared to think about. The old man had his secrets.

"I'm not asking you to allow it, Gandalf," retorted Bilbo, and drew his sword defiantly.

Thorin rolled his eyes in irritation. "It's not as though I'm asking him to go alone," he said, offended at the implied slight that he'd send Bilbo in without backup. "Seen or unseen, I doubt Bilbo can take on every orc and goblin up there. I'll be behind him, helping keep the path clear and providing a distraction. Azog will be watching me, he won't be watching for an unseen attack." He gave an easy grin.

Dwalin gave an annoyed grunt behind him. "Don't be talking like you'll be going up there without backup yourself, Thorin. I'm going too."

"So am I," Fili broke in. He struggled to his feet, face pale.

"No," Thorin said immediately. He didn't want Fili anywhere near Azog or Ravenhill. "I need you to find your brother. He probably needs help. You know how easily distracted he gets."

Fili frowned. "Uncle-"

"No," Thorin repeated. "Do what I ask, Fili. If we both went and something happened it'd leave the throne to Kili. Do you think he wants that?"

Fili snorted tiredly. "He'd probably find a way to resurrect us just to personally kill us himself."

Gandalf still looked unconvinced. "They'll see you coming, and kill you," he pointed out. It was surprising to hear him put it so bluntly. It was perhaps the only time in their acquaintance that the Wizard had spoken plainly about anything.

"See to your own, Gandalf, and we'll do the same."

Bilbo gave him a significant look. "You don't have to come."

_Yes, actually, I do._

"You've made your choice, and I've made mine. We'll be right behind you. Fili, get to the city. Your brother needs you." Thorin turned and clasped his nephew's uninjured shoulder. "Keep him alive. Your mother will kill me if you don't." That inspired a fleeting smile from the injured dwarf. Gandalf pursed his lips, but said no more, urging his horse toward Dain's remaining forces.

Bilbo touched Thorin's arm, and the dwarf jumped, gripping his sword hard. "Sorry." The Hobbit looked genuinely apologetic, but plowed on. "You won't be able to see me once we get moving. I thought you'd want to... give last-minute instructions."

Thorin forced a tight grin. "Don't die."

Bilbo gave an anxious laugh. "Seems simple enough."

"You'd think," Thorin muttered. "Alright, let's get this over with before there's no one left to save shall we?"

Bilbo stepped back, preparing to move behind a pile of rubble. "I need you to trust that I'm there, Thorin. I will be."

Thorin nodded. He didn't know why the Hobbit needed privacy to go invisible, or whatever it was he did, but he wasn't about to dispute it so long as the Hobbit came. "Call out if you need help."

"I will." With that the Hobbit was gone.

Thorin turned to Dwalin who already had one axe over his shoulder. "About time," he said with a grunt, "I was beginning to think we'd be having a tea party instead of fighting."

"You may wish we were before this is all over," Thorin warned him.

Dwalin shrugged, unconcerned.

Then, together, they headed out toward Ravenhill and Azog.

* * *

Honestly, he didn't remember the goblins and orcs being quite this hard to kill. He and Dwalin hewed at the wretched creatures, coating their blades and themselves in thick black orc blood, but ever were there more to take the places of the fallen. Twice, Dwalin had to redirect him, distracted as he was by the swarming masses of their enemies. Thorin told himself it was the distraction, not his abysmal sense of direction, that turned him aside from their path.

Once or twice, he heard a cry of pain that sounded rather like a Hobbit's, and Thorin surged forward to decapitate several orcs before the horde closed in on them again. He didn't see any sign of the Hobbit, though, and assumed he escaped safely. Without Dain's battle rams, it took much longer than before to reach Ravenhill. Still, reach it they did.

Thorin's sword sang its bloody song, heavy with the death it delivered hither and yon. Goblins and orcs alike fell to his blade while behind him, Dwalin's occasional battle-cries assured him the warrior was still alive and kicking. Azog was nowhere to be seen, and anxiety clawed at Thorin's insides. He remembered this all too well. As the last goblin fell, silence descended on Ravenhill.

"Where is he?" growled Dwalin, still breathing heavily. "I don't see him. It looks deserted."

Thorin clenched his fists. They had to wait. Rushing in after the burglar would only make things worse.

Suddenly, a roar of pain echoed from the tower. Azog had felt the sting of Bilbo's little sword.

A loud chattering as of many voices broke out behind them and Thorin turned just in time to see a swarm of goblin mercenaries leaping over the wall.

Right, he'd forgotten about them.

He readied his sword, only to falter as another roar and a loud crash sounded from inside the tower.

"Dwalin!" he shouted, "we need to help Bilbo!"

"Soon as we're done needin' help ourselves!" Dwalin replied. He stepped forward and swung his axes in a great swing arc, taking out an entire line of goblins in one swing.

Thorin waded forward as well, his blade flashing in a blur of deadly light.

Something caught his attention and he turned, just as pain exploded in his chest. His back hit the ground hard and he was sliding, the landscape whirling past him in a blur.

He struggled to sit up, gasping at the pain burning up and down his ribs.

Ice crunched and he looked up just in time to roll out of the way of a mace, that came down and cracked the ice where he'd been lying seconds earlier.

His ribs, clearly broken, shifted and he bit back a scream of pain.

Scrambling, he managed to get to his feet, somehow still clutching his sword, and turned to face his enemy.

Bolg, spawn of Azog, grinned and raised his mace for another blow.

Dimly, Thorin heard Dwalin yelling a warning. He was torn, wanting to help Bilbo, and yet feeling the unyielding need to ensure this evil creature wreaked no more pain upon the world. Bolg's mace smashed into the ice again as the dwarf stepped aside, the wind of its passing blowing hair into his eyes.

He roared and swung again, and Thorin lifted his sword to block the heavy weapon--not the smartest idea he'd ever had. Pain shot along bones grinding one against another, his head threatening to explode. He caught a glimpse of Dwalin, surrounded by goblins, orcs darting by toward the valley and the main battle below. Bolg's mace caught him under the arm without warning, and Thorin felt his feet leave the ground. Seconds later, he met the cold, hard ground with a sickening crunch. What ribs hadn't been broken before were surely broken now, snapped and splintered and useless. Each breath was torture to draw, and his sword was gone. Where, he didn't know.

"THORIN!!" The burglar's panicked voice seemed to come from very far away. Bolg's hulking shadow loomed over him, and the orc slowly lifted his mace once more. A faint whistle was all the warning he had before a long, feathered shaft sprouted from Bolg's chest. He staggered, stunned. A second shaft joined the first, and this time, Thorin recognized it as an arrow. Bolg's mace dropped a fraction, then, with a roar, he swung with all his might. Thorin closed his eyes. This was going to hurt.

Throwing his weight to the side, the dwarf rolled out of the path of the falling weapon. Bolg grunted as his mace smacked into the ice again. Thorin's world was pain. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. His vision faded in and out, black and white, dancing spots and dazzling stars. This wasn't death. That thought alone was comforting.

* * *

Waking up was...surprising.

The pain wasn't and was of such intensity Thorin immediately wished he could fall unconscious again.

He opened his eyes slowly, the simple act far harder than it should have been, and found himself studying the canvas of a tent over his head. Dimly he could hear the sounds of people moving about or speaking.

Beyond that there was silence, no indication of a battle meaning they were far from it or it was over entirely.

He grimaced, his mind going to his nephews, his friends. He needed to know what had happened to them.

He started to roll onto his side, intending to sit up.

White hot pain splintered through him, blazing along his nerves and freezing his lungs. He made a choking, strangled sound and collapsed on his back again, gasping for air.

He heard a shout and then the sound of feet rushing toward him.

The hand that touched his forehead, the voice that spoke over him, were neither very familiar nor very dwarven. Through the overwhelming pain, he swore the voice was muttering elvish curses at him. But the pain faded, and as his muscles unlocked, it became possible to breathe again.

"Will he be alright?" THAT voice, he knew. Relief surged through him. Balin had survived. But what of the Hobbit? Where were Dwalin and his nephews?

"His recovery will be a very slow one." The voice was deep, as well as elven, and for a moment, Thorin had a ridiculous mental image of Thranduil wearing dwarven healers' robes. "If your king can manage to lie still for the next several weeks, then he may yet heal completely."

Lie still?! Thorin forced his eyes open to glare at the Elf, only to groan when angry tension threatened to shift bone splinters out of place.

"My lord," said the Elf dryly, "if you don't agree with my methods, I will be forced to give you a sleeping draught, and I doubt being unconscious for the next two months or more will inspire much hope in your people." He had dark hair. Not blond. Not Thranduil. The other one, El Ron or whatever his name was. From Rivendell.

"He's right, laddie." The heavy sound of boots fell on his ears and Thorin turned his head slightly toward his old friend as Balin stepped into view.

"Bilbo," whispered the injured dwarf. He'd meant to ask "where is Bilbo,"  but all three words seemed to take too much air for comfort. Balin seemed to understand. He nodded to his left, and Thorin turned his head a little further, feeling the first unpleasant warnings of pain at the movement. But there he was. In the cot beside his own (and they seemed to have the only two beds in this tent) was his burglar. Bilbo was swathed in bandages and so very still, he looked almost dead.

"Dwalin will tell you the whole story, but this courageous little fellow saved your life, Thorin."

Thorin raised a hand weakly, stretching it out toward Bilbo.

Elrond sighed in exasperation and caught his arm, forcing it down onto the mattress again. Thorin found it personally insulting how easy it was for the Elf to overpower him.

"He'll be fine," Elrond said, "a fate you will not share if you don't stop. You need to rest."

Thorin made a sound of frustration that absolutely did not trail off into a strangled moan at the end. He could feel unconsciousness beckoning and, given the pain he was in, was not adverse to answering the call.

Still, he could not let go, not yet. He found Dwalin standing behind Elrond and struggled to speak, his mind rebelliously refusing to cooperate.

Thankfully he and Dwalin had been friends so long there was often no need to actually voice what they needed to say to one another.

"They're all fine," Dwalin said shortly. "Kili's off hoverin' around his brother. I imagine he'll be here soon enough to do the same to you. Now go to sleep, ye fool, before I knock ye out myself."

Thorin felt profound relief flood through him. He'd done it...well, Bilbo had. Hopefully Durin wouldn't get angry about that. He'd told him to go back and not die but hadn't expressly stated Thorin had to do everything himself.

He relaxed back into the bed and let unconsciousness come.

The knowledge that the last sight he saw would not, this time, be the last view he had of the world was a blessing and a relief.

He was fairly sure there was little he would face in the days to come that would be able to affect the simple joy he felt at being alive.

All in all, it had been a good day.


End file.
